Vacation Ends


Here’s how I know that I am a very, very lucky woman.

Its the very last day of February vacation, and I don’t mind.

I slept a lot this week, did some knitting, walked my dogs, went out to lunch. A couple of closets got cleaned and I read a funny romance novel.  I spent a fun day with my Mom and I visited my son at college.  I baked, I cooked, I read magazines. It was a really rejuvenating, relaxing week!  Sweet!

But I don’t mind that its over.  I don’t mind at all.

I miss the kids, and that’s the truth.

I feel like I’ll get to see all my friends in the morning, and I don’t mean the other teachers.  I mean the kids.  I can’t wait to hear about Olive’s trip to Florida, and Cooper’s visit to his Grandmother’s house.  I hope that Mia got over the flu, and that Lily had fun skiing.

I want to show them the crazy colored scarf that I made!

I suspect that the secret to my teaching success is that I’m still incredibly immature.  I truly want to hear about Aidan’s hockey  tournament and Liam’s lacrosse games!  I know that the kids will crowd around my desk, and they’ll talk over and other and everyone will keep bursting into laughter telling tales about who fell over a chair, who spilled popcorn at the movies and whose brother had the flu all week and ruined everything.  At least one of them will shout, “I had the weirdest dream!” and then go on to detail an adventure in surrealism that could only be recounted by a ten year old.

Eventually, I’ll settle everyone down, and they’ll go to their seats and start the morning work, and I’ll take attendance.  And I’ll be back in my place, sliding smoothly through my routine, surrounded by people I love.  We’ll finish our Revolution biographies and show our projects to each other.  Kids will be proud of their little creations, like this depiction of the burning of Governor Hutchinson’s House by the angry Boston mob after the imposition of the Intolerable Acts.

I love the Leggo mob.

I love the Leggo mob.

At some point in the day, I will run into colleagues at the copier or in the teacher’s room.  Everyone will sigh, and talk about how short the vacation was and how hard it is to be back to the grind.  I’ll go along and nod my head, but I’ll be faking.

I’ll be happy to be back in Room 303, hearing all about the life of Samuel Adams and admiring the cardboard Liberty Tree.

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5 responses to this post.

  1. That is a very nice mob. Your students are so lucky to have you. As a parent, I’m always excited when we get a teacher like you. It doesn’t take long to tell.

    Reply

    • Thank you! I think I have finally discovered the secret to be a good teacher: You have to be immature and you have to have a dose of arrested development! Truly….!

      Reply

  2. You may have kept your child-like wonder, but you’re obviously a very mature person. How can I tell? By the fact that you’re willing to listen. That’s something most children only learn as adults (if ever). You even mention that your class will talk over each other — that’s because childhood is all about “me, me, ME!” And that’s the way it should be.

    I guess I’d say you’re child-like, not childish. You’re mature in the things that matter, and that’s a very good mixture in my book…

    Reply

    • Wow. Years and years ago, when I was young…..I had someone explain to me that “childish” and “child like” were not the same thing…. You just gave me the chills!
      Truly, though, as I have aged, I have come to believe that only those who can still reach out and touch the silliness and the wonder of youth can really connect with young people. I am lucky enough to have never lost my love of childhood. I don’t know if it makes me a “good teacher”, but it most definitely makes me a happy one.

      Reply

      • I don’t know if all happy teachers are good ones, but I definitely know that if a teacher is unhappy, they can’t be good…

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